Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I breathe, but I still want to destroy shit. “I’m here. Thank you for your concern. You’re a good friend, Caleb.” There, no lashing out. “Look, I’ll call you later.”
I hang up before I lose the battle with my temper. Then I pop to my feet and toss James Joyce down into the chair with more force than is strictly necessary. I jog up to my bedroom to change into workout clothes.
When I come back out, I pause in the hallway and look towards my office. God knows I’ve spent enough moping hours looking over the footage I got of Brooke during those brief weeks I had her back.
But that way lies madness. I lost one whole month like that right after she left, barely eating, barely doing anything else except caressing her face on the screen with my eyes and fighting the impulse to go after her and reclaim what’s mine.
Going no contact was brutal. So of course, I cheated. Not that I tell my therapist, but it was nothing to arrange for a discreet security detail to make sure she’s safe in Chicago. They stay at a distance, so she never knows they’re there. And yes, they send an occasional picture.
All right, they send a picture every day. Look, sanity comes at a different price for different people. The furniture in my house stays intact and I spend an hour every day, usually somewhere around lunchtime, worshiping at the altar of my beloved’s face.
The rest of the time I stay busy.
And when the memory of her scent or the itch to touch her gets too maddening, I work out. I turn away from the office and jog back downstairs to the gym I had installed month two after she left.
I barely get gloves velcro’d before I’m taking out my frustration and fury on the heavy-weight bag—my real best friend the past year. Sorry Caleb.
I slam it hard with an uppercut that sends the bag swinging, then do a bunch of hard, quick jabs in the center that allows for a quick expulsion of energy. Then another hard slam.
I get into it, really working up a sweat with my shirt off ten minutes later when the doorbell rings.
I try to ignore it, jabbing some more when it rings again.
Fucking hell. What is it now? Did Caleb and Moira decide to gang up on me today? What, was he the cavalcade and now she’s here, the main troops, coming in for the kill? They seem to be on an all-out offensive lately on Operation Get Dom Out of His House.
I’m perfectly fine here. It’s a mansion and I’m a billionaire. Anything I want is already here or can come by delivery.
I tear off my gloves and stomp towards the door.
“What?” I bark before the door’s half open.
But then I see it’s her.
“Domhnall,” Anna says, eyes widening when she takes in my sweaty torso.
She’s so fucking beautiful. She cut off all her hair, has a nose ring, and a full sleeve tattoo down one arm. I’ve seen pictures, of course, but her—here—is so fucking stunning, I lose all the breath in my lungs.
“Anna.” I fall to my knees at her feet, pressing my face to her knees. “Are you really here? Are you real?”
She crouches down until she’s all but sitting on the front stoop with me, and when I next look at her, I see tears in her eyes. “I’m really here, Domhn.”
I look behind her, my heart leaping when I see a big suitcase. “Is this just a visit or are you back?”
She nods shyly. “I’m back.”
“Thank Jaysus.” I throw my arms around her neck and cling to her. “I love you so fucking much. I’ve barely survived without ya.”
Her back immediately shudders with a sob. “I love you too. And I know. It’s been hell. But I had to find myself.”
I nod into her short hair, cupping the back of her precious skull. “I know, love. I know.” I pull back just enough to kiss her forehead. “Is it alrigh’? Being back here?”
She shakes her head, head craning back to look up at the house. “I don’t think I can go inside.”
“That’s fine,” I assure her. “We’ll go away. I’ll follow you anywhere, love.”
I clutch her face lightly between my palms, looking at her. Her tear-stained eyes gaze back at me, clear and full of hope. “You will?”
“Of course I will. I always woulda.” I grin at her, my whole body light as if I could fly. “Let’s run away together, love.”
She grins, laughing even as she cries. Then she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me.
Our mouths meet as we pour our love into one another. I grab her up into my lap. I can’t get her fucking close enough, wrapping my arms around her.
Every part of my being burns for her, but for now, whatever ounce or speck she gives me, it will be enough. It will always be enough. I’d beg for scraps at her table and be the happiest man alive.